


He Ain’t Heavy

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Harm to Children, Hunter Training, Hunterverse, John Winchester is An Obsessed Bastard, Torture, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: John has always been terrified that something would one day hurt his boys. He has trained them for years, and he knows they are strong. But in the lives of hunters, every day brings a new way of being broken. His boys are warriors, but John needs them to know what broken means, before someone else teaches them first.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 19
Kudos: 47





	He Ain’t Heavy

They had been training for nine hours when Sam broke. It was an endurance test, and John had said something cryptic about learning more about themselves from the inside out. He had said that monsters will get information from them that they didn’t even know they had, and the only way to prepare for what they would do to them was to do it to themselves first, to see how much they could take before they broke entirely.

Dean was grateful that his father was teaching them. He was going to be a hunter, was committed to the life, and he wanted to learn from the best. There was no better hunter out there than John Winchester. The way Dean saw it, he and Sammy made a team that, together, would equal their legendary father. Sam was skinny but he was strong enough, and he was smart like Dad. Dean was unshakable, if not truly fearless, and he was strong and solid. He was a dead aim with a firearm, and he could wrestle to the ground a guy twice his size. That was what training was all about. He was determined that he would one day be half as good as his father, to be the partner Sam needed in a fight. They were two halves, and one day they would be unstoppable.

He was grateful to be taught. But sometimes he wished the man would at least back off of Sam now and then. This was one of those times.

Sam was past exhaustion. The kid still had fire in his eyes, but it was fading, just like the rest of him. The simulation was brutal. They had not eaten since being startled awake at midnight. The few drops of water had been too little, and hours ago besides. Dean could feel himself shaking, but he could actually see Sam’s tremors. They had long since burned off and sweated out anything in their stomachs from yesterday. Sam was mostly skin and bones, with just a little bit of muscle tone; he had no body fat to lose. Dean caught himself checking on him with increasing frequency, and Sam had stopped telling him he was fine.

The worst of it all for Dean, other than worrying about Sam, was the repetition. Dean could handle pain. He could handle the exhaustion, the ache of his every muscle. But being trapped inside his own mind for so long was wearing on him. He could only imagine how Sam was dealing.

The first two hours were spent jogging, and that was fine. That was normal; although it wasn’t usually in the middle of the night without a snack, but it wasn’t so bad. John had led them, and they had gone through the mountain trails, and it had been a nice night for it. Then John had stopped them, and they had thought it was over, that they could go back to sleep.

The next hour was spent with ropes from their backpacks. John tested them on every knot they had ever been taught. It was a nightmare. Dean couldn’t always remember which one they were supposed to be doing, and Sam remembered but couldn’t always accomplish it. Working together wasn’t allowed, and it nearly brought both boys to tears. About twenty minutes in, though, Dean caught Sam shaking his head very slightly at him and making a tiny movement with his own rope, and he realized the younger boy was correcting him. Without a word, they helped each other, exchanging covert glances and signals, never speaking, never meeting one another’s eyes, never giving any indication that they were assisting one another in any way. But together they got through it.

When John was satisfied that they knew their knots, they were running again, the whole two hours back to the campsite they were staying in. Sam was faltering, but his stubbornness kept him going. Dean shortened his own stride to allow Sam to keep up, even though he just wanted to get it all over with.

It was a false assumption that they would be done when they reached the campsite. They were allowed water, but had to work for it, as John had raised a stash of water onto the top of a rock ledge at the end of a brutal obstacle course requiring strength they were quickly running out of.

Then they were running again, this time through a stream, against current. Dean was so hungry by this point that he considered grabbing some of the vegetation nearby. His mind whirred relentlessly the entire run, desperate to identify the berries, moss and leaves around them, to determine what could and could not be eaten. The only time he was distracted from his own stomach was when Sam tripped on an underwater root behind him and went down with a cry of pain. He whirled about and scooped his brother up, and then they were pacing like before, and fear of sprained ankles was forgotten in favor of craving a meal.

He splashed water on his face, and into his mouth to stave off the desperation, until Sam smacked him in the back of the head mercilessly.

“Don’t drink it, dumbass,” he wheezed. “If it’s got...got bacteria...you’ll get sick...not safe without-without purification tab-tablets…”

Dean had forgotten. It was easy to forget they were anywhere near civilization. But now he remembered the warnings posted back at the campsite, discouraging fishing. Sam was right. Sam was always right.

“Dandelion is okay,” his brother panted. “Grab-grab it past the trees up there. Should be fine.”

“Leaf or flower?” he heaved back. He knew this stuff. He did. But his brain was tapping out.

“Either one. Whatever you can-can grab without-without stopping…”

That was good enough for Dean. He swiped at a patch on his way by. It was bitter, but it gave him something to chew, to confuse his brain into thinking he was eating. And it had a bit of last evening’s rainwater on it as a bonus. He wanted to throw up, but he didn’t dare. That would only dehydrate him more, so he forced his stomach to settle by will alone.

The run through the water was brutal on their feet, and there was enormous relief when they finally heard their radio come to life with John’s quiet voice in the dark, telling them to find their way back to the trail and return to the campsite. Sam relied on Dean’s sense of direction, and followed without even a word, just staring down at the ground the entire way. Sam knew his stupid plants. Dean would get them back to camp without error. They made a good team, considering.

When they arrived at the small clearing, Dean could hear Sam’s big puppy feet padding after him, and then he could hear the kid dry-heaving the moment they stopped. Dean leaned on his knees, but Sam dropped onto the ground. His big brother wanted to help him up, but that would have to wait until he wasn’t quite so dizzy. By now, he didn’t even want to eat. He wanted water, and he wanted to lie down. He raised his eyes as soon as doing so wouldn’t knock him off his feet, and met John’s gaze.

His heart fell. One glance at his father’s face told him they weren’t done yet.

Sam was on the ground behind him, struggling to rip off his shoes, which probably weren’t even the right size anymore, while also trying not to throw up. Dean closed his eyes. Sam thought they were done, just as Dean had. Knowing that Sam was about to learn that horrible truth was almost worse than knowing it himself.

Their rest lasted only five minutes at most, before John was giving them their next set of instructions.

Dean sighed miserably as he heard the tiny sob from his brother’s throat. “Sir,” he forced out. “Before we start, let...let him get some water. Please.”

John was not immune to Sam’s eyes, nor to Dean’s respectful plea. But he shook his head. “Just a swallow each.” He held out the bottle of water to Dean.

He stared at it with desperation. Then he closed his eyes hard, and handed it over to Sam. “Two swallows,” he croaked softly.

Sam smiled grimly. He took his own and Dean’s before John could argue, and handed it back. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Dean tried to smile back. He winked instead. It was the best he could do.

John watched them carefully. Then he cleared his throat. “Get to it.”

So they were climbing now, endlessly climbing, and Dean’s brain was screaming. The repetition was making him crazy. He wasn’t even hungry anymore, and his body had stopped demanding water. Even his muscles were numbing.

Climb to the top of the rope. Check on Sam beside him. Climb back down again. Climb to the top of the rope. Check on Sam beside him. Climb back down again. Climb to the top of the rope. Check on Sam beside him. Climb back down again.

The fire in Sam’s eyes was fading. It was excruciating to see. But the kid didn’t stop until John finally gave them a whistle. The two boys dropped to their feet, and, while Dean leaned heavily on the rope, Sam fell completely to the ground with a cry.

“Good work, boys.”

Dean heaved a shaky sigh. “Yes, sir.”

“Now sit.”

It was relief for Dean, who was somehow still standing, and a colossal effort for Sam, who had to raise himself from the ground. But they managed to cross their legs and sit beside one another at John’s feet. Dean could feel Sam trembling from a foot away, even beyond his own shaking.

“Now stay seated.”

Dean frowned, but it was Sam who spoke up. “What? For-for how long?”

“Until I tell you that you can get up.”

He swallowed hard, and glanced at his little brother. Sam’s fire was back, and his nostrils were flared. “Dad, we need to-“

But John interrupted. “Enough, Sammy. I know what you need. And you’ll get it. But not yet. Sometimes a monster can do worse than kill you. Sometimes it isn’t about killing you. Sometimes it’s about breaking you.”

“I’ll...Dad, just let Sam rest. I’ll do whatever he is supposed-“

“No, Dean,” John snapped. “Sometimes you won’t be able to help your hunting partner just by giving him your share of something. Suffering for him isn’t enough to save him. Now stayed seated, just like that. If you can’t keep yourself up, I’ll use the ropes to help you.”

Dean wasn’t sure if that last part was a true offer of help or a threat, but he was tempted to choose the restraints. At least then he wouldn’t have to rely on his own muscle and willpower. “No, sir,” he sighed. “We can do it.”

John nodded at him, and turned toward the camp. Without another word, the boys were alone again.

The kid was gasping in his tears. “Dean, I can’t. I really can’t.”

“You can, Sammy. Just breathe, okay?”

“What did we do wrong?” he sobbed. “Is this a punishment?”

His heart was breaking. “No, man. I think...I think it’s just training.”

“It’s always been hard, but it’s never been like this before. Dean, I can’t.”

He took a deep breath and then turned his head to spit. He closed his eyes. “It’s just sitting.”

“I’m going to pass out.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t already.”

Sam scowled at him.

“I don’t mean it like that, okay? I mean...you’re doing great. Just a while longer.”

“Going to be so sore. My legs are cramping.”

Dean looked around them, and lowered his voice. “He can’t see. Just stretch.”

“Dad-“

“Isn’t here. Just stretch, Sam.”

His brother uncurled and stretched out his skinny legs. The shoes were off again, and he rubbed his feet. Then he smiled at Dean. “I can almost feel again.”

“Feel what?”

“Anything.”

Dean snorted. All he felt was dizzy. He could still taste the dandelion he had snagged. They sat in silence for several minutes, just listening to their own heartbeats and the morning birds around them.

Sam spoke up again finally. “I can’t sit up anymore,” he hissed.

He opened his eyes, and realized he had dozed off. He licked at dry lips and nodded. “Come here. Lean on me. We’ll hold each other up. Back to back.”

“I can’t…”

Dean groaned, and shifted his tight, angry muscles to brace his brother, who clearly couldn’t move on his own. He couldn’t lean on Sam. The kid would just fold and collapse. But he let Sam lean on him, and they found a balance that let each of them rest more comfortably. Dean closed his eyes again, and before long, he was snoring softly.

***

Sam could feel the moment his brother dropped into sleep. His own brain was busy conjuring up information about what was going on with their bodies right then. It lectured him on the dangers and stages of dehydration, identified and catalogued the aches and pains throughout his body, considered chemicals such as lactic acid reacting to the inflammation in the tissues of his ankles, the way the nociceptors carried the pain signals to his spine and brain…

And there was Dean’s snore. He smiled to himself. It was comforting to know Dean could sleep through this. It was also nice to think maybe he was helping somehow, keeping his brother steady enough to sleep without falling over. He had heard the simmering rage of Dean’s stomach, but now that he slept, it had calmed down.

He hated John right then. He knew how much Dean worshipped the man, and most of the time, so did he. But right this minute, he just hated him. It didn’t matter if Dean refused to hate John; Sam would hate him enough for both of them. This wasn’t what their mother would have wanted. He was certain of that. How could he, who had known Mary only six months before losing her, know her better than her husband and older son? In his heart, Sam knew. He just knew Mary didn’t want this for them. It was madness, John’s obsession. Maybe Dean knew it too, but if he did, he never let on. He followed orders without any sign of hesitation or doubt. It was better that way, for Dean. It was simpler. Let Dad give the orders, and they couldn’t go wrong. There was no way Dean could be blamed for messing up if he just did exactly what John told him to. That terrified Dean more than any monster they could possibly encounter, the idea of letting Dad down, of screwing up. It scared him far more than the pain of training. Sam could see that in his brother’s green eyes, every day. It was just beneath the older boy’s smirk, that fear of not being good enough.

Sam was different. He did what he had to, but all the while, he promised himself he was getting closer to freedom with every step. This would not be his life. He was getting out.

It was hard to imagine what out might be like, especially right now.

Dean’s soft snore shook them both a little, and it reminded Sam of every time they had had to share a bed at a motel. Sometimes there was a couch, and one of them would grab it instead, and there would be relief at the lack of cold feet and shared nightmares, but even from a few feet away, that little snore comforted Sam and let him rest, knowing big brother was nearby. The monsters wouldn’t get past Dean. It didn’t matter that every motel room looked exactly the same and completely different at the same time. Dean was always there, so Sam was never lost. There were always sirens in the distance, traffic sounds, drunks stomping through the hall outside their door, muffled shouting through thin walls. But there was also that soft snore that said big brother was there.

The mornings always smelled like coffee, mouthwash, greasy diner food, and burned out cigarettes. God, Sam hated this life.

“Sammy.”

His eyes shot open. His father was standing there now, staring down at them. “Dad?”

“Hush, son. Come here. You can be done.”

Sam frowned. “What about him? Isn’t he done?”

“No. Either you both stay there, or you can come eat something, drink some water and sleep, and I’ll keep working with Dean by himself.”

The calculations weren’t adding up right in his dizzy brain. “So...if I want to go eat and rest...Dean has to keep working?”

John shrugged.

“But if I don’t, we just stay here like this? How long?”

“Till one of you decides you’ve had enough.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched, and he spoke through his teeth. “We’ve both had enough, sir.”

John’s face was unreadable. “So leave him. He’ll be fine.”

“No!” he snapped hoarsely. “He’s done too!”

“Shh. Do you want to be done or not?”

Yes. He desperately wanted to be finished. He needed water. It was becoming his only clear thought. “No,” he forced out. “Not if he can’t be.”

“He would tell you to stop being stubborn.”

Sam felt angry tears burning his eyes, and he wondered how much worse bursting into tears would make his dehydration. But he said nothing.

John nodded slowly. “Dean,” he called sharply.

The older boy startled awake and responded to the bark the same way as always. That is, he tried. He leapt to his feet, to attention, and stumbled terribly, and fell with a crash before he could steady himself. He groaned in frustration, and looked up at his father with shame on his face.

Sam hated that most of all.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he panted in humiliation.

John watched him. A fleck of sympathy crossed his eyes, then it was hidden away. “Dean,” he growled, “you’re done. Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.”

Dean swallowed hard and nodded his relief. “Did I do okay?”

“Of course you did.”

He nodded again, and pushed himself up with the last of his strength. He swayed badly, but kept his feet beneath him this time. Then he seemed to realize Sam was not standing. He frowned and blinked too hard, like he wasn’t seeing quite right. “What about Sammy?”

“He isn’t done yet.”

Sam could feel his lips trembling. But he kept his stare straight ahead. It was fine. Good. It was good. Dean needed to eat something. It wouldn’t be long till Sam could too.

“I don’t understand,” his brother whispered.

“Look, one of you can stop, eat and hydrate, and climb into your sleeping bag. The other will keep working with me.”

Heartbreaking realization came over Dean’s dust-smeared face. “What?” he choked out. “You mean...he’s got to keep going? What for?”

“For training. Come on. Go get yourself some water. Sam’s got some more work to do.”

Dean looked back at him in disbelief. Sam couldn’t look at him. Not if he didn’t want to cry. “No, sir!” He took a deep breath, and looked as though he was about to throw up. “I mean...No, sir. I can wait for him.” He lifted his chin in the most defiant way he had ever managed to do before, and it nearly made Sam lose his failing grip on his tears.

“One of you has to be done. It doesn’t matter who.”

The older boy looked back at his brother. “He’s done, sir. Kid’s fried. I’m good. Sir.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not done,” he heard himself mumble. “Not if Dean isn’t.”

John’s eyes were hard. “Then you’ll both sit there the rest of today, and into the night. If by tomorrow morning, at dawn, if you’re both still too stubborn, you can get up, if you can.”

Dean’s voice cracked slightly, but he sat back down beside Sam. “Yes, sir. I’ll make him go before then. I promise.”

Sam felt his tears slide down his cheeks. It wasn’t even a sob. They just flowed without impediment, leaving dust streaks in their wake. He would never forget the exact moment he had broken. Years, many years, later, he would remember just when he had felt something inside him splinter. It was when he realized that Dean was right, that Dean would make him give in, that he would be able to pry Sam out of his obstinate protest, that sooner or later, Sam would let Dean talk him out of being strong.

Each time the memory of this moment hit him, for the rest of his life, he gained a new flare of defiance, a burst of determination and will, and he promised himself yet again that nothing, no monster, no fear, no pain, nor hunger or thirst, not even death itself would make him break again.

After another instant spent staring down at them coldly, John’s eyes softened, and he smiled with a strange weariness Sam had rarely seen. He held out his hands to each son. “Come on, you two. Let’s get you fed and hydrated and cleaned up.”

Sam could see the hopeful suspicion in Dean’s green eyes, and he knew it was reflected in his own. “Sir?” the older boy croaked.

John knelt down beside them, grabbed Sam about the waist and draped one of Dean’s arms around his broad shoulders, and lifted them both at the same time. Sam hated the man today, but a tiny part of him still marveled at his dark hero’s strength. Dean smiled shakily, and, in his own face, the hero worship was plainly expressed.

“Come on,” he said again. “You’ve both done everything I asked of you, and in the end, you protected one another. You didn’t give in and abandon each other. I’m so proud of you boys. You didn’t break.”

Sam swallowed as they were hauled into the tents to rest.

 _I did,_ he wanted to say. _You don’t understand, Dad. I did. And Dean knows it._

But his brother just winked at him, just like always, and Sam wondered if maybe Dean really didn’t know. It didn’t matter. In that moment, he swore to himself that he would never give in again. Bring on the monsters. Bring on the pain. He was Sam freaking Winchester, and he would _not_ be broken.

**Author's Note:**

> Whatever you’re thinking now, you’re probably right. Thank you for reading. Comments and recs are a writer’s currency! 
> 
> ~Posing


End file.
